


Ill will

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [33]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DWMP verse, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curufin has a cold and is shockingly not at all gracious about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ill will

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. For the prompt: "DWMP verse Curvo is sick, Finrod tries to take care of him, Curvo is having none of it."  
> 1\. This started as ‘Finrod tries, Curufin is having none of it; and turned into ‘Curufin tries to have none of it, but Finrod is having none of him having none of it’.  
> 2\. -whispers- I wrote this weeks ago and completely forgot to crosspost it to Ao3.

“Curvo?” Finrod came tentatively into the dark room. All the curtains were drawn and the lights were out, the lump in the bed barely visible from the door. Finrod carefully closed the door behind him and crossed to the bed. “Curvo, are you awake? Tyelko let me in.”

“Another reason to kill him,” said a gruff voice from under the blankets.

Finrod sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke the dark hair that was all that was visible of Curufin. “Yes, he told me that he took your laptop away.”

“He’ll pay for that,” croaked Curufin. “Just as soon as I can walk across the room, he’d better watch himself.”

“Still pretty dizzy? My mother says that congestion can affect your inner ear and that’s probably why you’re feeling so woozy. I’m afraid I agree with Tyelko on this one; you shouldn’t have been on your computer.”

“I need to _work_.”

“You were getting blinding headaches.”

“Suffering is strength,” said Curufin, and coughed.

“Poor thing,” said Finrod sympathetically, “the fever must be making you talk stupid.” He stroked Curufin’s hair again, and Curufin snarled at him. “What was that? Yes, I know you’ll kill me, too. But listen, having some of this soup will give you enough strength to do me proper damage. I know how important it is for you to do a thing properly, and imagine the embarrassment if you could only half throttle me.”

“How about I just throw scalding soup in your face instead?”

“That would be rather ungracious.”

“Have you _met_ me, Ingoldo?”

Finrod chuckled, and tugged the blankets straight. Curufin emerged from the sheets and fixed bleary eyes on Finrod. “I am going to aerosolize my contagion and infect you with it,” he said raspily.

“Or you could just sneeze in my general direction,” said Finrod cheerfully. “Curvo, my sweet-voiced lark, I spent a good hour or two yesterday kissing you, the likelihood of me catching your plague is quite high. I am resigned to my fate.”

“Go _away_.” Curufin looked outraged. “Did you just call me a bird? Where’s the soup, I’m going to drown you in it.”

“You haven’t the strength, darling,” said Finrod, rummaging in the bag he’d brought. “I also have tea – in this other thermos, see – with honey, and throat lozenges, and Echinacea – my mother swears by it – and I brought a book to read to you.”

“I hate you,” said Curufin, as Finrod planted a Kleenex box by his head. “This is infantilizing, and humiliating, and annoying. God, my head feels like my brother’s dog is sitting inside it. Let me lie here in silence and suffer, won’t you?”

“No,” said Finrod. “Shan’t.”

Curufin made a noise of outrage that turned into a hacking cough, and subsided to the pillows. He allowed himself to be handed a Kleenex, and blew his nose loudly. “Everything is a horror,” he said, as Finrod propped himself against the headboard beside him. “And I do not like being dandled.”

“I wouldn’t know how to dandle,” said Finrod, who was flipping through a book. “It sounds like something that requires special training. But I am very good at ignoring your growls.”

“I hate you,” said Curufin again, and dropped his head against Finrod’s side.

Finrod curled an arm around him, and Curufin sighed, resigned to his fate. “What hideous book did you bring to read to me? Kant?”

“ _The Design of Everyday Things_ ,” said Finrod, and Curufin fell silent.

Finrod smiled and twitched back the curtain, letting light fall across the pages. He began to read in his low clear voice, and Curufin closed his eyes, his head settling against Finrod’s warmth.

“ _The presence of an affordance is jointly determined by the qualities of the object and the abilities of the agent that is interacting. This relational definition of affordance gives considerable difficulty to many people. We are used to thinking that properties are associated with objects. But affordance is not a property. An affordance is a relationship…_ ”


End file.
